The Adventures of Myron Schumacher
by Dreamfyre Kielstra
Summary: A companion story to Innocent Youth, occurring one year before those Games. Join Myron Schumacher in his quest to make it out of the 149th Hunger Games alive, and still kind of sane.
1. Horray, It's Reaping Day

_Reaping Day_

I can't say I've exactly been looking forward to this day since the moment I was selected to be the male tribute for this year's Hunger Games. Coincidentally, these Games are right before a Quarter Quell, so in terms of the arena and its twists, it isn't going to be anything special. I should be fine, right? But in 24 hours, I'm not going to wake up in my bed. I'll wake up in a bed three times larger than this one, in an entirely new world.

Any attempts I have made to accept my situation have been spoiled by my parents. Mom and Dad have warned me of the many underdogs that will gleefully usurp my position as Victor. Their concern of that may have been intensified when the small sixteen-year-old girl from District 6 in last year's Games pretended to be mute but turned out to be a silent, deadly killer who preferred head-bashing as a means of elimination. We're always taught to make deaths bloody for the audience, but at least to make them swift to end the human suffering. I've never really had it in me to extend the agony of someone who never stood a chance.

I wasn't expecting to be this nervous on the day of the Reaping but ever since I woke up three hours before the sun rose, my heart has been dangerously fast. I guess reality is finally setting in. Having the popularity of being the male tribute was pretty cool while it lasted, but I'm sure that'll diminish if my face be in the sky of that arena. Everyone will forget my name once I'm buried along with the other decomposing District 2 tributes who had everything it took to come home alive, but ran out of luck. You could be as prepared as anyone, but you just never know what they'll throw at you once you rise out of the Launch Room.

After being seemingly unable to stand for hours, I finally rise out of my bed, settling at the foot of it. My eyes catch the blue dress shirt and black pants hanging in my closet. I asked my older sister Allie to pick out my Reaping outfit for me. It seems a little strange for me to have my clothes chosen for me since I'm eighteen, but it was only for today. I want her to feel like she is involved in this journey, since she never showed any interest in the Hunger Games, preferring horseback riding by far. I'm glad she went down a different path, because becoming a tribute is not for the lighthearted, and my sister probably wouldn't hurt a fly.

I slowly get dressed into my outfit, cringing at the bright blue of the shirt, making my own blue eyes seem gray in comparison. I don't opt to wear vibrant colors very often, but Allie said I needed to stand out from the other Alpha Careers and even the occasionally more popular Beta Careers. I don't plan on being a stereotypical District 2 Career who has to do everything by the books, because as the last twelve years as proven, that doesn't really work out. We haven't had a Victor since Chloe Furnstahl from the 137th, and she was just that. She only seems to act upon what she believes will preserve her honor, and that includes immersing herself in the Academy to the point where she doesn't really have a life outside of training Careers. It's a little sad, but whatever floats her boat, I guess.

Heading downstairs, Allie squeals as soon as she sees me.

"Look at my little brother. He looks like a grown up!" Allie says in a baby voice, rushing over to me and hugging me tightly.

"I totally _am_ a grown up, Al, I'm eighteen now!" I tell her, playfully punching her in the shoulder.

"You punch like a twelve year old, little brother," she jokes, delivering a somewhat rough punch to my gut. I laugh her attack off, but she actually may have given me a nasty bruise.

"I'm saving my strength, I'm gonna need it." I reply, resisting the urge to hold my aching side. I look around for my parents to see me off, but they seem to be missing. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

"They had to be extra security at the Reaping today. Sorry I didn't tell you, but when I went into your room, you were asleep," she admits. Well, I know I wasn't, because I remember hearing my door slowly open around an hour ago, but I assumed it was Mom or Dad to give me a lecture about Bloodbath strategy one last time, so yes, to Allie, I was "asleep".

"Oh, it's fine. I'll see them at the Justice Building," I say casually, hiding my excitement at not having to deal with them for a least another hour. At least their Hunger Games rants will only be for an allotted amount of time while they're saying goodbye.

"I got you a token, by the way," Allie chirps, pulling a small package out of her pocket. She eagerly hands it to me, smiling from ear to ear.

I open it without hesitation, and it reveals a bracelet made from dark rocks.

"It's some rocks from your old collection, remember? You had given me some of the ones you didn't want anymore so I decided to make them into jewelry." Allie seems proud with her work. She has a right to be proud; her amateur bracelet making skills have come a long way to the point where she could make quick cash off of selling her creations.

"I just thought, what better way to remind you of home?"

I hug my sister, fighting off makings of tears.

"It's perfect," I whisper, rubbing the smooth stones of the bracelet. Diorite, granite, and marble are the main stones all woven into a teal rope. Teal is Allie's favorite color, so I suppose that's a way of reminding me of her, too.

After we head to the Reaping, Allie says farewell and heads off to the spectator section, since she is twenty and free from the Reaping. Not that she was in any danger of being in the Games, anyway.

I make my way to the eighteen-year-old section, everyone grinning at me because they know what's to come. My whole life has been leading to this moment, I should be glad that my years of hard work were going to pay off. I should be more than glad, I should be happy, right?

"Elisa Shayle!" our escort cries out, having pulled another meaningless slip from the glass bowl.

"I volunteer!" a high-pitched voice declares, and soon enough a tall, slender girl with black hair prances towards the stage, smirking deviously.

"Name?" the escort asks the girl, who seems to be eyeing me in particular.

"Cascadelle Greyson," she purrs, causing the crowd to go nuts. I ruled out sex appeal as one of my main traits years ago, because I'm not really cut out for it. At least, that's what my parents told me.

Without delay the escort chooses a name from the male's bowl, but I don't really hear it. All I can hear is the sound of my own voice pounding throughout my head as I shout two fateful words.

"I volunteer!" I shout, slinking out of the crowd and plastering a fake, confident smile on my face. As a climb onto the stage, my adrenaline wears off, and I'm left with a very conflicted, confusing feeling.

Dread.

* * *

 **This is just a little companion story for Innocent Youth, showing how last year's Victor, Myron, won his Games. It's going to be solely from his POV because, well, you already know that he won.**


	2. That Emma Girl

_The Goodbyes and the Train_

I sat in calming silence for around thirty seconds before my parents rushed in. Neither of them had any traces of tears in their eyes, instead, their eyes focused on me as if I were nothing more than a toddler whose behavior needed to be punished. Their young, naive son was about to be thrown into the Hunger Games and I'm almost certain that they don't think I'm ready for such an experience.

"Son, do you remember what I told you about first impressions?" Dad asked me, giving me a mean glare.

"Be expressive," I replied, my voice cracking. I guess my sad face didn't cut it, I should have been roaring with excitement at the fact that I could possibly be dead in the next two weeks.

"You almost looked like a Reaped twelve-year-old out there," he told me, his voice dripping with disappointment.

"No, that's _exactly_ what he looked like," Mom rebuked. She's crossing her arms at me, not even giving a comfort like eye contact as she gazed at the rich red curtain behind my head.

 _Just for another few minutes. Just for another few minutes._

I zoned about the rest of what they are nagging me about for the sake of my sanity. After what feels like five eternities the Peacekeeper finally intervened with our pity party and herded them out of the room. I averted my gaze from my shoes for around a split second to see my father giving me a look of what appeared to be sadness. Or maybe, regret. I couldn't tell, my father's expressions that are not anger are borderline impossible to read.

Why was he giving me a sad look? Maybe because he knows this is truly goodbye. He won't have a son to boss around anymore, I guess.

Some of my closest Academy friends and my personal trainer stormed into the room after them, elevating the somber mood of the room left by my parents to a bright and happy one. It was a little hard to hear what everyone wanted to say to me since they were all talking at once, but once Nolan, the man who taught me how to use a hatchet, embraces me tightly, it's his two next words that confuse me even further.

"Have fun."

I don't know if anyone could associate the Hunger Games with fun, but it's not a bad mindset. Being in the arena is something you want to be done and over with as quickly as possible, but they say time flies when you're having fun.

After they all filed out of them room, Allie rushed in, almost tackling me. At first she's laughing, but her giggles soon dissolve into crying.

"Please come back," she manages to say between her gasp-like sobs, "don't leave me with Mom and Dad. I need you, little brother."

"You really think I'm gonna leave you all alone with those lunatics, Allie? C'mon, I'm a better brother than that." I say to my red-eyed and teary-faced sister. She stops bawling for a moment, her heading lifting slowly until she is looking deep into my eyes.

"You promise?"

"I pinky promise," I whispered, offering my pinky to her. She stares at it for a moment, hesitating, before locking her pinky into mine.

We hug wordlessly until the door opens and a Peacekeeper curtly tells Allie that it is time to go. As she gets up to leave, and whips her head around and scowls at me.

"You better not break the pinky promise," she says in a serious tone.

"I won't." I reply, clasping my hands together. She raises her pinky to me as a reminder as the door slams shut. Just like that, she is gone. Now I'm alone again, waiting for someone to collect me and the female whose name I have already forgotten. After around a minute I am ushered out of the room and led out of the Justice Building and into a car driving me to an area of District 2 I have never seen, the train station.

The escort says her name is Tatum, not that I cared. The female tribute, whose name is Cascadelle, had been walking awkwardly close to me while taking the short journey to the train, so I had to make a point of walking ahead of her. Still, I could almost feel her breathing on me.

When we boarded the train I immediately sank onto a plush green couch, groaning in exhaustion. Not really physical exhaustion, but emotional.

"Boy, saying two words really does take a lot out of you, doesn't it?" Cascadelle said sarcastically, plucking a pale green cookie off of what appears to be a cylinder-shaped tree of the pastel-colored pastries.

"It's not just that," I informed her, "the goodbyes are always hard."

"I only had one person come and tell me goodbye, and it was my trainer telling me not to make her look bad," Cascadelle uttered.

"That's rough," I said, shaking my head. Guess I'm not the only one weighed down by incredibly high standards.

Before long the two mentors, Chloe and Jaxx, come rushing onto the train, out of breath.

"Sorry we held up the train. We had business to deal with," Jaxx tells us, motioning his hand outside the closing train door.

"It's all dealt with now," Chloe informs us as the train shoots out of the station at lightening speed, although I am very surprised as to how we're all still standing. Chloe strolls over to Cascadelle and the two start to chat lightly, almost as if they knew each other already. Jaxx plops down next to me, letting out a sharp exhale.

"So, Myron Schumacher. I've heard a lot about you. Are you really as good at wielding an ax as they say?" he questions. Modest. My normal personality trait, but one that will not suit a big bad Career.

"Hell, I'm one of the best. Why else do you think I'm sitting here?" I reply with a false tone of confidence. Jaxx smiles and nods approvingly, and continues to tell me how he knew my parents. He describes them as nice people. Jaxx is lucky that he is not their son, or "nice" would not be a word he would use to describe them.

After a while Tatum suddenly bursts into the dining/living room car and announces that the Reapings are to air in three minutes. Jaxx clicks on the monitor screen and Calla Rodriguez and her twin sister Royal Rodriguez are seen sitting at their familiar desk, visibly excited.

"Who is ready to meet our tributes for the very first time?" Calla and Royal say in creepy unison, and the camera cuts to a wild Capitol crowd, cheering and applauding. A shot of District 1 is shown, mostly just fountains and the Gem Garden. The escort there, dressed as some kind of horned rainbow horse, calls out the name of a young girl who doesn't even bother to exit her pen, because she knows it is not her heading into the Games. Instead, a voice instantly calls out to volunteer, and a slender, blonde haired girl who introduces herself as Emma trots onto the stage, beaming. She is soon joined by a tall, muscular boy with glowing tan skin and a mass of curly black hair who is called Armahni. I've never seen the tribute tributes from One look this different from each other, but it's a nice change.

Our Reaping is shown after that. It's a little strange to see myself on screen, but Cascadelle seems to be enjoying witnessing her brief stage time. I'm sure she can't wait for the chance to be dressed in a silly costume and paraded for all to see.

The two from District 3 are nothing special. Just a scrawny boy and girl who will be lucky to see the first night fall across the arena. The only thing I noticed about this pair was that the boy went into an uncontrollable sneezing fit after his name was called.

The last two Alpha Careers looked promising. A siren-like girl named Pacifica gave a devious smirk to the camera, probably wishing she could smash it to bits. The boy looked very similar to her, with both of them having sleek black hair and bright blue eyes. Calla reveals that they are distant cousins. I've always wondered what it would be like to go into the Games with a family member.

District 5 produces Beta Careers on a somewhat consistent basis, but this year, only the boy was a Career due to the girl chickening out at the last moment. Not the best look for a district trying to establish itself as contenders in the Games.

I cringed a little at seeing the pair from District 6. Both tall and muscled, they looked like forces to be reckoned with. I make a mental note to watch both of these tributes, because the last thing I want is to forget about them and finally have them brought back to my memory when their knife is planted in my back.

Seven had a somewhat worthy pair, both volunteers. The girl, Terrace, however, was no Career; she had volunteered because her best friend had been Reaped. I don't care how close you are to a person, or how sweet volunteering for them looks on the surface, if you volunteer without preparing for the Games your whole life, you've already dug your own grave.

District 8 actually managed to have two volunteers this year, which was a surprise. Even though Eight was considered a Career district nowadays, it usually only produced one Career every year rather than two. The girl, Magenta, was stocky and had a certain look of determination on her pale face, but the boy gazed into the distance as if he weren't fully there, almost reminding me of how I felt when I stood on that stage. Confidence seemingly there, but quickly slipping away as you realize what you have just gotten yourself into.

District 9 looked like bloodbath fodder. Both of the tributes cried their way onto the stage and only the girl stopped after she reached it. The boy had to be carried off by Peacekeepers as he cried for his mother.

"A pitiful display for a pitiful district," Chloe muttered.

"How old is that kid, twelve, or three?" Cascadelle hissed, pointing to the close-up shot of the boy's tear-stained and puffy face.

The next two tributes didn't seem to differ that much from the previous ones. Juliet, a frail, bird-like girl almost dragged her weight onto the stage after her name was called. The boy didn't respond to him being Reaped until around a minute later, when he was spotted hiding in the crowd and practically tossed out of the sixteen-year-old pen.

District 11's expansive farms and plantations are shown before focusing on their sun-lit square. Although the boy was mundane, something about the girl, Alannis, caught my eye.

"She has trisomy 21," Jaxx points out, a split second after I realized it. I haven't heard of that before, but it gave Alannis a somewhat distinct appearance which made her look younger than her eighteen years. She still seemed to be someone to not count out of these Games, however, because she could easily pull a Johanna Mason.

District 12 was... well, District 12. A blonde girl named Elysa and an olive skinned boy named Joey were both plucked out of the district with a scarce track record in terms of Victors, and with the odds stacked against them. Nothing new.

After the program ended Tatum called us all to dinner, where I forced myself to down a roast turkey for the sake of looking macho.

"Someone's got an appetite," Jaxx said, his mouth filled with fattening, rich Capitol food. I look over across the table to see Cascadelle poking at a slab of buttery meat with her fork, frowning. But, for some reason, she momentarily looks up and gives me the same grin she flashed at the Reaping. I quickly fix my stare elsewhere, instead focusing on my nearly empty plate. I'll play the alpha game when we arrive in the Capitol, at least, but if Cascadelle is eager to start it now, she'll have to wait.

The train windows soon darken, and Tatum sends us all to our bedroom to rest for tomorrow, a day she says is going to be "fun, fun fun!" I head for my bedroom after losing the argument against Tatum as to why couches can be beds, too. I reach the expansive room after finding quite a few bathrooms and fall onto the bed, sinking into the mattress as if it were quicksand. I slowly remove Allie's Reaping outfit, almost in a poetic way, as if I were letting go of my old life. I carefully set it on my dresser, trading the outfit for a more comfortable one to sleep in.

I knew since I got onto this train that sleep was not going to happen, but at least I can be alone with my thoughts. As I stare at the ceiling of my room, covered in at least three blankets, one mischievous thought I had tried to shoo away returns. One that had been lingering in my mind ever since I saw her. And it probably won't leave my mind until either my life ends or hers does.

 _Who is that Emma girl?_


	3. Puppy Love Parade

_The Capitol_

As the first morning rays peer through the transparent curtains, I'm suddenly brought back from the realm of sleep when Tatum suddenly begins to knock tirelessly at my door, demanding that I come and join the others for breakfast. I kick off the blankets wrapped around me and yawn loudly, pretending not to hear her.

"Myron, quickly! We're arriving in the Capitol in half an hour, and you need plenty of time to eat!" she tells me through the door. I head towards the door and slowly open it, and sure enough, Tatum is waiting on the other side with her bright red lips pursed and her arms crossed.

Ever since I first met that crazy woman, I've wondered how old she really is. She looks no older than 20, but Capitol face paint has a habit of prematurely aging people's faces, it seems. She almost has the appearance of a middle aged woman with how much makeup she is piling on herself.

She roughly places her hands on my shoulders and leads me to the dining room, where Chloe and Cascadelle are both at the table, having a deep conversation, it seems.

"Where's Jaxx?" I ask them, who both point to the couch on the other side of the room. I peer my head over to see Jaxx sprawled out on the couch, snoring loudly.

"Why did he get to sleep out here?" I protest. Cascadelle giggles at me.

"Only 'cause Tatum kicked him out of his room," she tells me, waving her hand to me as if to call me over to the table.

Before long, the expansive skyline of the Capitol is revealed as we zoom past the misty, snow-capped mountains. Cascadelle squeals in delight, while I just stare blankly at the enormous city. Not even a spark of excitement for what's to come dwells within me, despite my best efforts.

After we exit the train and shove our way through masses of cheering candy-colored people, Tatum, Cascadelle and I step into an elevator, while Chloe and Jaxx linger outside, waving goodbye to us.

"We'll see those two after the chariot rides," Tatum assures us, giving us both light pats on the shoulder. "We're heading to the Remake Center, where you'll be prepared for tonight's Tribute Parade!"

I almost forgot about the chariots. Popular myth is that they'll make sure to remove any trace of hair that is not on your head. I know I haven't shaved since the day before the Reaping, so I'm sure the makings of facial hair on my face will send them into a frenzy.

The elevator door chimes and opens, and Cascadelle is almost immediately escorted into one of the many rooms lining the large hallway by a tall woman whose arms are wrapped in rose stalks. A plump man with bright pink hair grabs me by the forearm and herds me into a room directly across from it, slamming the door shut somewhat forcefully. When I saw a pair of identical, flamingo-like women holding tape and a bowl of hot wax, I knew these next few hours were not going to be fun. One of the flamingo women steps forward.

"Hello there, Myron. I'm Augusta, this is my sister Athena, and that's Marcellus. We're your prep team, and our job is to make you look _fabulous_ during your time here!" the woman introducing herself as Augusta chirps, smiling painfully wide. The other flamingo woman, Athena, walks up to me and examines me almost as if I were a rare specimen.

"He's really tall, much taller than he looked during the Reapings. Go tell Demetrius to hem the costume for a much taller frame," she instructs an Avox standing idly in the corner of the room.

"Yes ma'am," the Avox says, before dashing away with her orders. Ever since Avoxes were allowed to keep their tongues it's a little ironic that their name is still the same, since it means 'without a voice'. President Ismene issued an order around when I first started training at the Academy that all Avoxes were to be able to keep their tongues. It was a big deal at the time, and a policy that I distinctly remember my parents opposing.

After the Avox leaves they instruct me to remove my clothes, which probably would have bothered a normal person, but I just comply after accepting that this is just their job. I awkwardly remove my Reaping outfit and let it fall to the ground, which Marcellus folds neatly and tucks away into a corner.

"We'll return your outfit to your room in the Training Center dear, so you'll get to see it again." he tells me as he retrieves a roll of tape and hot, steaming wax from a table in the corner, grinning almost maniacally.

"We're going to do something about all that hair!"

Once they're done waxing me until I'm smooth as a dolphin they vigorously rub me with a slimy blue liquid, which makes my skin feel like little ant pinchers are nipping away at every inch of me, which is not the most pleasant sensation. Before I'm able to react they put me in a tub of oily liquid before rinsing it off quickly and rubbing _another_ slime all over me. After an hour or so they're finally done. The three of them all gaze at me intently, satisfied with their work.

"Perfect. Now we can present him to Demetrius!" Marcellus says cheerfully, handing me a paper gown to wear before leading me to another similar room, except this one is smaller and has no windows, giving it an almost suffocating vibe.

I've been sitting on a tall stool for around five minutes or so, swinging my feet back and forth in a child-like fashion before a large, scruffy man enters the room, holding a bag which I am assuming contains the chariot outfit.

"You must be Myron. I am Demetrius, your stylist for these Games," he says in an almost monotone voice. "Can you guess, by how old I look, how long I have been a stylist?"

I ponder for a moment, not wanting to say anything that would suggest that he's too old.

"Ten years?" I guess, shrugging. He chuckles at me, shaking his head.

"Twenty," he corrects, "and this is only my second year with District 2. Before that, I had been in stylist hell, being stuck with District 10 for a long time," Demetrius tells me. I do remember the chariot outfits from District 2 last year; they were both dressed in glamorized versions of an old-world military uniform. I can't say they were stellar, but they clearly stood out if I was able to remember them from the usual golden trojans District 2 was dressed as. If he was one of District 10's for what he said was a 'long time', then he was responsible for all the branded cows I remember District 10 dressing up as for years.

"Ever since my own tribute Arielle Stevenson won a few years back I was promoted to District 2." I vaguely recall Arielle Stevenson. She was famous for entering the Games a married woman.

"Big jump, if you ask me, but lucky for me there was a slot open." Demetrius says, handing me the bag and asking me to open it. It reveals a jumpsuit printed entirely in the design of a mountain landscape, with silver armor and a sword scabbard strapped to my back. It looks a little better once it's actually on me, and I stare at my image in the mirror.

"Like? Dislike? In the middle?" Demetrius asks, suppressing a cough.

"I'd go into the arena wearing this, for sure," I tell him, grinning. He manages the slightest of smirks turns to me, putting his hands on his hips.

"This is why I signed up for District 2. The strongest tributes from the strongest district, fighting for honor and glory. That's what the Hunger Games are about, Myron." Those words chill me to the core. That's exactly why I'm here; honor and glory. It should be the _only_ reason why I'm here. I wish I didn't have to worry about meeting someone's expectations as well as trying to keep myself alive.

Demetrius and I head down to where the chariots take off, and we soon locate Cascadelle and her stylist at their chariot which, to my dismay, is right next to the District 1 chariot where, sure enough, Emma is talking to her own stylist, wearing a knee-length dress and crown completely covered in rainbow gems. Each jewel reflected a ray of light onto her, almost making her look like a living rainbow. I force myself to look away from her for a second so I do not misstep and trip over like a fool before I reach my chariot.

Upon reaching the chariot, I notice that Cascadelle is dressed in a similar outfit, except she is wearing a headdress resembling a bird's wings.

"Look at us, we're twins," she jokes, pointing out our matching costumes. I let out a listless chuckle, my eyes averted back over to the rainbow girl from District 1. Unfortunately she finally glances in my direction, and I quickly turn my head before she can make eye contact with me.

"Aw, does Myron have the hots for Emma Habsburg?" Cascadelle teases, poking me in the ribcage, the same spot Allie punched me in.

"No, no," I protest, my whole face becoming red-hot. "Her dress was interesting... to look at."

"She's a good-looking girl, Myron," she notices, checking out Emma as she chats with her stylist. "It's a shame you'll have to kill her to make it out."

I don't respond, instead mounting the chariot and turning to Demetrius, who glances at his watch.

"Thirty seconds," he tells us, letting out a loud sigh. "You'll do great. Just give them what they want." Demetrius instructs. I nod, although I'm not quite sure what he means by that. I'm assuming that's code for 'smile and wave'.

The anthem blares out, and Emma and her partner are the first to stroll out of the tunnels. Around ten seconds after the District 1 chariot leaves ours files out, our white horses slowly trotting into the artificially lit Capitol streets packed with spectators and more importantly, sponsors. The crowd goes nuts when we come out, with Cascadelle causing a lot of people in the crowd to lose it over her seductive wave. I just wave normally at first, but almost make an entire section of the stands to faint when I blow a kiss to them. I notice that girl pretends to catch it, and the people sat near her start to claw away at her fists as if the kiss were a tangible object that they _must_ have.

I glance up at the monitors lining the streets to see some of the other parade outfits. Directly behind us, District 3's tributes are dressed in formal outfits made entirely of pulsing blue wires, and the District 4 chariot seems to be blowing bubbles. I spot the District 6 chariot containing the two Beta-Careers that worried me since the moment I saw them. They're dressed as train conductors, and waving fiercely to the crowd. The rest of the outfits were nothing special; Seven was lumberjacks, Ten was dressed as bulls, and Twelve as actual lumps of coal. The chariots reach their parking place, with all twelve of them lined up in a perfect semi circle surrounding the President's balcony. After an introduction, she steps out, eyeing each one of us intently before plastering on her trademark smile.

"Welcome, tributes, to the 149th Hunger Games. Here you will enter the Training Center, where you will reside for the next three days until the Games begin. Let now be the beginning of a newfound journey." The President's voice booms throughout the City Square, rattling my bones. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor, tributes." Her brief speech is met with thunderous applause, and after she disappears from her balcony we all file into a large room with elevators lining the back wall, which seems to be the entrance to the Training Center.

Tatum, Chloe and Jaxx are waiting for us once we hop off our chariots, and Tatum traps us both within a suffocating bear hug without warning.

"My two Careers did simply a-mazing! You two looked like the strongest ones out there!" she reveals to us. I certainly hope she's telling the truth, because District 2 tributes are almost always expected to look the strongest.

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?" I reply, ruffling my hair which has been slicked back by a strange gel. The stylists said it would prevent 'flyaways' but it sort of just makes my head feel like a brick.

Suddenly my blood turns to ice. Someone seemed to notice me playing with my hair. Emma looks over at me, smiling. Embarrassed, I look away just as quickly as I did the first time our gazes met. My heart feels like it's going to explode out of my chest, but luckily no one seemed to notice my wandering eyes this time.

"Come, everyone! Let's go wash up and have dinner!" Tatum sang, leading us all towards the elevator marked with the number two.

As we're taken up to our apartments to eat dinner, I just can't seem to push the image of her bright green eyes staring at me out of my head. Why am I even letting myself do this? The Hunger Games is no place for puppy love. Survival is the only thing I have the available brain power to worry about. And yet, it doesn't really feel like my brain that is doing this to me at all. As one of the many tacky romance novels Allie owns would say, my heart is the culprit, because there's no logical reason as to why I would develop a crush on a girl who will either be dead or all alone in that arena by the time this is over.

After a somewhat chatty meal in which Chloe claimed many times that she looked much stronger during her parade, I quickly retreat into a bedroom around three times more expansive than the one on the train, where the first thing I notice is my Reaping outfit laid on my bed. I fold it up and place it inside the dresser, where it will hopefully stay assuming that I come home.

Three hours of stirring in the ginormous bed leads me to request some sleeping pills, or else I may not get any sleep at all on the eve of a very important day, the first day of training. There, I will hopefully establish myself as leader of the Alpha Careers. I'll need to prove that I can be a good leader, too, by showing them all of my weapons skills and hopefully not messing up on any of them. But most of all, I'll need to put on my signature tough mask. The tough mask is not really who I am, but it's who everyone wants me to be.

 _Everyone wants me to be something I'm not,_ I think to myself as I finally succumb to the sleeping pill, closing my heavy eyelids and drifting off into slumber.


End file.
